


I Believe in John Watson

by madasthehatterforalice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthehatterforalice/pseuds/madasthehatterforalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short Johnlock drabble. Sherlock's alive and hiding out in Bakers St. John finally comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Believe in John Watson

It took John longer than he would admit to enter 221B Bakers St. again. It probably would have taken longer still if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Hudson’s encouragements. Not that they worked but that John couldn’t bear to disappoint her too. He did his best not to look at the rest of the flat, just went straight up to his bedroom. He couldn’t bear to see it as it inevitably was, unchanged, this place had been his home, their home. Now it was broken and it should have the good decency to look it.

Absent sounds haunted him up the stairs. Experiments banging about in the kitchen. A mad melody played by violin regardless of the hour. Monologueing “conversations” that happened whether John was there or not. He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than the little rented room he had been staying in since…since it all happened. Since the most brilliant, clever man John ever knew had taken his own life while all he could do was watch.

In those four bleak walls there were no memories of Sherlock’s presence to be missed. There was nothing of Sherlock at all. It was, in fact, quite similar to where he had been staying before he moved to 221B. Some days he would wake up and it was like Sherlock had never existed at all. Others he would open his eyes expecting Bakers St. Expecting to hear Mrs. Hudson rummaging around downstairs or Sherlock yelling at the telly. Those were worse. Of course, he felt guilty about that: wishing his best friend had never existed rather than left him alone.

John had been so alone before Sherlock and now he was alone again. He had soared but no longer. It was easier to pretend he’d never had wings at all.

It was a bit of a relief to reach his door at least he had no memories of Sherlock here. It was a lie but a lie he could live with.

 

* * *

 

The view from the window was interesting in that it was not the wall however Sherlock did not indulge in observing the bits of life he could see from it. Seeing meant being seen and he still couldn’t take risk that yet. Of course choosing John’s bedroom at their flat was one of the top ten bad choices Sherlock had ever made but he found he could neither help himself nor regret it.

He wasn’t nearly so removed from his emotions as believed, social exchanges or expectations for those emotions, yes, but not the emotions themselves. In fact, in comparing himself to others he’d be forced to admit he was probably more acutely aware of them than the general populous. So it was with absolute certainty and clarity of mind that he could say he was in love with John Watson and had been for some time.

If he had to put a date on it he would state it as being the night John shot the cabby. Seeing him across the tape as Sherlock began to describe the shooter, John, to Lestrade, so unassuming and calm, blending perfectly. John _killed_ for him on only the second day of their acquaintance. That kind of loyalty, conviction, even Sherlock knew that was rare. And then John had _giggled_ , giggled with Sherlock at a crime scene just after shooting a man. He was perfect.

Sherlock missed him. He missed talking to him. He always had when John was away, so he would continue talking to him. Sometimes he could even forget that John wasn’t there, but not now, not with John out there in the city thinking him dead, thinking him a fraud. No, John would never believe that, no one with a loyalty like John’s could. The world may no longer believe in Sherlock Holmes but Sherlock believed in John Watson.

Loving John and watching him date all those women was the hardest thing Sherlock had ever done and he’d quit drugs cold turkey. But pursuing John could have chased him off. Sherlock had meant what he told John, “I’d be lost without my blogger.” Sherlock could not live without John, could not function without John, so sacrifices had to be made.

But Sherlock was dead. Dead men could take more risks, hence hiding out in John’s room. Eventually John would return. Eventually Sherlock could see him again. All he had to do was wait.

 

* * *

 

 

John opened his door to see a tall slim silhouette standing facing the closed curtains. He suddenly hated those curtains beyond reason.

“Hello, John,” the silhouette said before turning to him.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes.”

“You’re alive.”

“Obviously.”

“Well, ok then.”

“Ok?”

“Ok.”

“Huh…I honestly wasn’t expected it to be so easy.” Sherlock’s lips turned up in the smile John well knew, the one Sherlock always gave him when he’d managed to surprise the detective.

“Trust me it wasn’t easy but the way I see it: either you lied to me and that whole business at St. Barts was a fraud, or your absence has finally driven me round the bend. Either way I don’t care. I can’t live in a world without you,” John made a valiant, failing attempt to keep his voice from breaking, “I tried, Sherlock, I did. I can’t do it. You are so much…my life ceases without you. So I don’t care. I need you and that’s all there is to it.”

Sherlock kissed him then and John was too surprised not to kiss back. When he regained his faculties he had the faintest idea that he should pull back but disregarded it in favor of exploring the crafty tongue that had just snaked its way into his mouth. It didn’t matter if John had never thought of his flatmate in this regard before because Sherlock was alive. My god, Sherlock was alive! Everything else could sod off.

Sherlock ran a hand through his blonde hair like he was taking account of each one, like _John_ was the one who was believed to be dead. It made John’s soul ache at the tenderness all while frustrating the hell out of him, but wasn’t that just so Sherlock. John really wanted to punch him straight in the jaw for being dead, for making him watch. He settled for biting at Sherlock’s bottom lip instead.

Going off his force and enthusiasm John felt he could honestly say he had never been kissed by anyone who wanted so badly to kiss him as Sherlock. Being the focus of all that cleverness and considerable intellect was something John had never expected, even more so than the kiss. Normally only the dead got that kind of attention from Sherlock Holmes. John felt deeply honored. It didn’t matter if he “wasn’t gay.” Maybe it had never mattered. He would have to be a fool to pass up what Sherlock was giving him. John might not have been as brilliant as Sherlock but he had never been foolish.

“This just,” John tried to say, “This isn’t the way…” tried because Sherlock seemed entirely unwilling to give up John’s mouth, “people do things.”

“Isn’t it?” Sherlock said between breathless kisses, “How dull.”

“No,” John said, “it’s smart.” Sherlock made a non-committal noise obviously aimed at pacifying John. “You can want something,” John soldiered on this being alternately cut off by fantastic kisses, “in a moment and the next,” John was beginning to think Sherlock had the best lung capacity of anyone he’d ever met, let alone kissed, “change your mind.”

“When have you ever known me to change my mind?”

“Perhaps, but I do.”

“Not about me.”

“No,” John agreed, “Not about you. Never about you.”

“Glad we got that settled,” Sherlock said, rather agreeably, before doubling his efforts to reduce John’s higher brain functions to a puddle of _God yes, more._

“Yeah,” John said before he could devote any thought to anything except that delightful thing Sherlock was doing against his tongue, “No, I mean, no…what?” John gave Sherlock a very half-hearted shove to shake his head, “Got what settled?”

“Really, John?” Sherlock asked in the way he always did when he was forced to answer a question he didn’t think should have needed asked, “Must I spell everything out for you?”

“In this matter I’m going to say, ‘Yes.’”

“I’d thought I made myself perfectly clear,” Sherlock said without letting up on John’s mouth, “on many occasions.”

“Well as usual it wasn’t clear to me,” John responded in a tone twin to the first time he’d said something similar to Sherlock on their first case together.

Sherlock did stop his assault then, pulling back to look into John’s eyes, “You really didn’t know?”

“Obviously, I know better than to ask you questions I already know the answer to.”

Sherlock smiled a bit at that and John nearly lost all the composure he had left seeing that “I’m so proud of my clever blogger” smile playing on kiss stained lips. “I’m in love with you, John,” Sherlock finally said, “Have been for the longest time. I’ve fought it and taken every opportunity to show it best I know how. It seems I failed in both regards.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock watched John just stare at him for a moment. He had dropped hints to let John know he was interested. All the while trying not to risk their friendship and John had, apparently, dismissed it every time.

Sherlock kissed him again.

It was time to show his blogger just how lost he would be without him.


End file.
